


“Don’t believe anything you read on the net. Except this. Well, including this, I suppose.”

by notjustmom



Series: Towel Day 2018 [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Douglas Adams, M/M, Not a Mary Verse, Towel Day 2018, inplied firsrt kiss, post-Return
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 06:12:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14805861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: John gets a bit distracted....





	“Don’t believe anything you read on the net. Except this. Well, including this, I suppose.”

The blog should have had a disclaimer, of some kind, he always thought. Believe at your own peril, or something of that ilk. Even he sometimes had trouble believing what he witnessed on a daily basis, as if he had been dropped into a comic book and was asked to write the words in the bubbles above the characters' heads.

 

Today was no different. And yet it was.  
And of course it began like every other day.

 

John sat back in his chair and scowled at the words, true as they were, a cliche was a cliche, though he supposed sometimes there was no other way to say a thing. So, he went on.

 

It all started with a simple question of a missing pet. There was a time when Sherlock would delete the email without a second's hesitation, but ever since his return, he rarely passes anything up, especially during a dry spell like the one we are currently in the midst of. He was nearing the 'shooting the wall' stage of boredom, but he had acquired something close to an allergic reaction when it came to weapons of any kind. I assume he'd had enough of them during his time away.

 

John paused again, trying to regain some focus. He'd never really asked him anything about it, though he knew about the nightmares, and the times when he'd catch Sherlock staring into space, seeing something that only he could see, hearing voices that belonged to him alone. He didn't ask because he was afraid of the answers, mostly because he wasn't sure he wanted to know the entirety of what he owed to his friend, he also knew he would never know even if he asked.

"John?"

"Hey - sorry, did I wake you up? I just wanted to get a first draft started, before I forget -"

"Forget? I hope today's events aren't so fleeting, John." Sherlock pulled the sheet tighter around his shoulders and made his way over to where John was frozen to his chair. 

"As you are constantly reminding me, you are the owner of a Mind Palace. I may have a cottage if I'm lucky, I just want to get the words out befor-" Sherlock grinned against John's lips, then kissed him carefully, almost reverently, as if aware that if he asked for too much, too soon, John might change his mind, or simply vanish into thin air. John pulled back and gazed into Sherlock's luminous eyes. "Hey. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I prom-"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. Don't promise me anything, John. It's just going to take me some time to believe that this, you, us, is real. It's only been a few hours and -" It was John's turn to shut down Sherlock's train of thought with a gentle brush of his lips.

"Believe me when I say to you, it's been years, not mere hours for me, Sherlock, and I promise you, no matter what, I am not leaving you, not ever."

Sherlock drew in a sharp breath and sighed as John's fingers found their way through damp curls, then tugged them just enough to bring their lips together once again. "John."

"Mmmhmm?"

"You do realise if you ever wrote about us truthfully, no one would believe it."

John laughed and kissed his forehead. "Yeah, I know, love. I'll be there in a few minutes, I can't write with you standing there looking like a damn Greek god - you are distracting enough when you aren't even in the room."

"Fine. Just don't stay up too late." And with a toss of his curls, he readjusted the sheet around himself and stalked evocatively from the room.

"You don't play fair," John muttered.

"All's fair in love..." Sherlock whispered back.

After a few minutes of staring blankly at the screen, John realised there was nothing he could really publish for public consumption, so he deleted everything he had managed to put together, and closed his laptop, then turned out the lights and followed the trail of the abandoned sheet that led to their bedroom. He briefly considered all the years they had wasted, then stopped short as he glimpsed the man who was watching him from their bed. Their bed. His love was waiting there, waiting for him and he knew one day he would find a way to write about him, but today was not that day.


End file.
